I've been thinking, and I think that the meaning in my life is often and perhaps too often defined by the people in it. This is perhaps why I always have a desperate need to be in love with someone, because if I'm not then I have no one to live for and this is also perhaps why I may eventually have to raise some children because then I'm living
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That second to last paragraph reminds me of Arcadia by Tom Stoppard. If you haven't seen it you should certainly read. He wrote Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, so you know that shit is good.
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